


Mysterious Ways

by fanoftheknight



Series: Indiana Jorleesi Universe [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Curses, Explorers, F/M, Familiar Faces, Indiana Jones-type frolics, ancient ruins, one HUGE ASS curse, there is angst, treasure hunters, you wouldn't expect anything else from me would you?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: Sequel to 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For'.Jorah, Daenerys and Missandei travel to a foreign market town in search of mysterious man who may lead them to unimaginable riches if his information is to be believed.But is there more at stake than just diamonds and gold or are our favourite couple just pawns in a much larger and deadlier game?
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Indiana Jorleesi Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824094
Comments: 112
Kudos: 48





	1. A Timely Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the promised sequel to 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For'.
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled throughout the story for links to scenes you might have read somewhere before...

Carrying their belongings in several bags, Jorah placed them down on the bed before turning to Daenerys and giving her a tired smile.

“We’re here, at last,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed, tossing his wide-brimmed hat to one side and pushing sweat-soaked locks of hair from his forehead.

Their journey had been long and arduous and they had been relieved upon arriving at the bustling merchant town close to their next excavation site. Their journey had been by boat, horseback, and foot, through rough seas, torrential rain and baking heat, but if the information they had come across was correct it would make their unpleasant journey more than worth their while.

Jorah had managed to find them lodgings in an inn that offered hot food and comfortable bedding, something that was needed after days of sleeping underneath the stars on the cold and unforgiving ground.

There was enough coin for two rooms and Daenerys insisted that Missandei take one for herself. Their young travelling companion was not used to their nomadic way of life and would take time to become accustomed to the constant moving from place to place.

That left the proposition of Daenerys and Jorah sharing the remaining room and while they had done so only a matter of weeks ago, back then their lodgings had been forced upon them through necessity rather than choice.

“I shall sleep on the floor,” Jorah said, placing his hands on his thighs and pushing himself wearily from the bed, knowing that if he sat there a minute longer he would fall asleep sitting up.

Loosening the tie of her neckerchief, Daenerys shot him an incredulous look.

“You shall do no such thing,” she told him plainly. “Not after everything you have done to get us here.”

While they had started the second part of their journey on horseback, one of the mares became lame after only two days and they had no choice but to put the poor beast out of its misery. The remaining horses were already laden with bags and with two women sat astride them, so Jorah chose to walk, refusing to allow either of his female traveling companions to be inconvenienced.

It was a huge relief to finally make it to the busy market town as Daenerys feared that another day of traveling on foot would prove too much for her stubborn travelling companion.

“I will draw you a bath,” Daenerys instructed, pouring steaming water into the metal tub. “And then you will rest for the night - in bed,” she finished, throwing a pointed look at Jorah. “Do not make me come over there and undress you, sir.”

Her words were teasing and although they had kissed many times since their enforced quarantine, they had yet to take their relationship to the next level - one that Daenerys was eager for them to embrace, sooner rather than later.

She was woefully inexperienced when it came to physical relationships and had tried several times to instigate a more meaningful contact between them, only for Jorah’s gentle hands to stop her from taking things further.

He was older than her and no doubt a great deal more experienced when it came to such things. Didn’t he realise that she wanted to give him everything that he desired, that he deserved?

He stood before her, dressed in nothing but his undergarments, his broad chest glistening with sweat from their long journey, the myriad of scars that travelled across his body a roadmap of the life he’d lived before they had met.

He stood looking at her, the fatigue clearly written across his features.

“Well,” she said, her hands on her hips. “What are you waiting for?”

He blushed fiercely at the question.

And then it dawned on her. He was waiting for her to avert his eyes so that he could undress fully.

She turned her back to him, a smile creeping across her face.

“I didn’t take you for a shy maiden,” she teased, turning back to face him after hearing him sink into the water with a tired sigh.

No, just a gentleman, she thought.

She watched as he closed his eyes, allowing the hot water to soothe his tired muscles, those eyes of his that she could find herself getting lost in…

Those same eyes sprang open when she rubbed a cloth across his chest. He took the fabric from her in an instant.

“I can do that myself,” he told her with a frown, running the cloth across his legs and then his chest.

“And what about your back?” She responded, unwilling to be deterred.

He flinched at the question and she knew why. He was ashamed of his scars and of how they made him look.

“Please, Jorah,” she implored him, holding her hand out for the cloth. He gave it to her reluctantly and leaned forward in the tub. “I will be gentle, I promise.”

He flinched as the cloth made contact with his scarred and maimed flesh.

“Does it hurt?” She asked, drawing the cloth lightly over his shoulder blades.

It took him several moments to answer her.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “I’ve learned to ignore it for the most part.”

Her heart ached for him, realising the amount of discomfort it must give Jorah and yet to those who did not know him, they would never know the pain he carried with him each day. It suddenly became obvious why he would pull away so suddenly when she laid a hand on his clothed back. Although her intent was always one of comfort, it would also cause him significant pain.

The damage wrought upon him from his days as a prisoner of war was his Achilles heel, his one area of weakness, and here he was allowing her to touch him in the place where he felt the most vulnerable.

He was silently showing her how much he trusted her.

Several minutes later, Jorah nodded his head toward the fresh towels sitting on the end of the bed. Wordlessly, Daenerys picked one up and handed it to him, averting her gaze as he stood and climbed out of the bath, wrapping the towel around his waist.

He looked as though he would fall asleep where he stood and so Daenerys motioned him toward the bed, pulling down the sheets and instructing him to lie down.

“But I’m not dressed,” he told her sleepily.

Part of Daenerys hoped it would encourage Jorah to take things further with her, but she could see that he was quickly losing the battle to stay awake. Removing her outer clothes, she joined Jorah, snuggling closer to him as he wrapped his arms protectively around her.

She watched over Jorah as his breathing slowed, his hold on her relaxing slightly and soon she found herself suddenly feeling just as tired, her eyes closing as she quickly fell asleep.

* * *

Daenerys woke from the pleasant dream she was having. In it, she had been a queen and Jorah her consort, living happily with their two small children and ruling over a peaceful and contented kingdom. In her dream, the people of the land had demanded that Jorah became king to rule alongside her, with him eventually, albeit reluctantly, acquiescing to their demands.

She ran a hand across Jorah’s stubbled cheek and it brought him awake as his eyes fluttered open. He was still holding her possessively.

“How did you sleep?” He asked, blinking several times to wake himself fully.

She kissed his lips.

“I had the most pleasant dream, how about you?”

His shy smile as his eyes dropped to the mattress told her all she needed to know - his dream had been a pleasant one too.

There was still so much that they had yet to understand about their connection to one another, but it was likely that Jorah had shared her dream. It was something that had become increasingly common since they’d met, the fact that their dreams would often be the same. Perhaps it had something to do with their close proximity to one another?

Placing a finger under his chin, she tilted his head up to look at her before kissing him deeply, her hands finding their way to his face as he leaned over in an effort to bring her closer to him. She could already feel his desire as his hands roamed down her sides, his fingers gliding lightly over the sides of her breasts. She found herself getting lost in the feeling of his hands travelling across her body when he suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” She asked as he stiffened, his hands still on her waist.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” He asked her, his expression serious. “That you’re ready?”

She was tempted to roll her eyes at his question. Instead, she nodded and pulled his face down to meet her willing lips.

“I am sure,” she said, wanting to feel every part of Jorah on her skin.

He made short work of her underclothes and soon she was just as naked as he was. His lips travelled across her face and down to her collarbone as he positioned himself between her legs, his arms supporting his weight while he leaned over her.

“Please, Jorah,” she begged.

He nodded and did as she asked, remembering her inexperience when he met resistance. He stilled immediately.

“It may hurt,” he whispered. “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Daenerys.”

She pulled him down for another kiss.

“I trust you.”

She tried to swallow her disappointment as he moved away, only realising what he intended to do a few moments later when she felt his mouth on the most intimate part of her. She gasped audibly as his experience showed, bringing her to her peak as she whispered his name, her head falling back onto the pillows as she tried to come down from her high.

He returned his attention to her mouth, kissing her soundly as he positioned himself between her legs once more and this time, he found less resistance as he slowly pushed himself inside of her, moving slowly to allow her time to get used to the feel of him.

He saw her momentary wince of pain as he entered her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stilling his movements in an instant.

She silenced him with a kiss and wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to move once more.

Although there was discomfort and pain, the feeling of becoming one with Jorah was better than she could ever have imagined. She felt a connection deep inside as they found a rhythm, Jorah’s eyes never leaving hers as they rocked and moved as one. She could feel herself edging closer to her peak as Jorah’s thrusts became quicker and more urgent, her head hitting the pillow as her walls clenched and twitched around his length. Wave after wave of pleasure surged through her body.

He moved off of her quickly and groaned as he reached his own climax, pulling out of her before he did so, his breath heaving as he grabbed for something to clean himself with. 

She looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

“Why?” She asked as she regained control of her breathing.

“I won’t risk making you with child, Daenerys,” he told her as he cleaned himself up.

“And what if that is what I want?” She replied bluntly, feeling as though he was treating her like a child.

“In the middle of a foreign land?” He questioned.

She knew he was right. This was not the time nor place to conceive a child. There would be plenty of time for that later, but part of her wanted to feel the rush of Jorah spilling himself deep inside of her. She would ask at the market if there was anything she could take that would lessen the risk of her becoming pregnant when they lay as lovers.

“You are a good man, Jorah Mormont,” she sighed, realising he was right and admitting defeat.

He winced at the compliment. “Not as good as some, I’m sure.”

“But good enough for me,” she replied, pulling him back down to the bed for another kiss, revelling in the sensation of his hands on her body.

She lost herself in the pleasant feeling for several minutes before Jorah pulled away. “Come," he said as he reached for his clothes. “We are due to meet our contact at the market this morning.”

Daenerys nodded her head, rising from the bed as naked as the day she was born. They had travelled far and wide to finally make contact with a man who claimed to know the whereabouts of an ancient dynasty, their final resting place one that would bring great riches to whoever stumbled upon it.

They had an entire lifetime to discover one another, but their contact would not wait for long before moving to the next explorer who offered them enough coin to reveal their secrets.

It was time to get down to business.


	2. The Perfumed Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get very interesting...

After breaking their fast at the tavern, the three travellers made their way to the bustling market that sat along the coast. There were merchants of every kind, selling exotic spices, the finest silk, and all manner of exciting and enticing mysteries for their willing customers to try.

They were not here for browsing the markets though, they were here to meet a man who had so far only conversed with them via letters and messages passed back and forth between birds and delivery boys. It had taken much persuading and reassurance, but their contact had finally agreed to meet them.

Jorah ensured that he kept both Missandei and Daenerys within arm’s reach. They were in a foreign land and although their surroundings appeared fairly serene, Jorah was not foolish enough to believe that their safety was guaranteed. Perhaps his senses had been heightened due to his time in the Army and the constant need to be on alert when leading his men. Jorah knew his only role in this business relationship was to protect the women and give his life for theirs if needs be.

That was not to say that he did not think them capable of protecting themselves. Daenerys had already proven numerous times that she could defend herself, but that did not stop Jorah’s chivalrous nature coming to the fore. Missandei was their translator with a multitude of languages under her belt, Daenerys was the money and influence and strong enough to take on any man on her own. 

The only addition Jorah brought was his physical stature and deadliness with a weapon. He was nowhere near as smart as the two women he walked alongside. He was their protector and shield and nothing more.

“Perhaps he has changed his mind,” Missandei said quietly, still not feeling quite at ease with her new companions.

Daenerys smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt, pulling on the ends of the garment in frustration. “We shall wait a little longer. I have not come all this way for nothing.” Her tone was defiant. Jorah pitied any man who tried to get one over on this feisty young woman.

A small girl appeared out of nowhere, tugging on Jorah’s hand.

“What is it child?” he said irritably, trying to remove his hand from the girl’s.

The young girl responded in a language he did not recognise. Jorah looked at Missandei expectantly.

“She asks if we are the travellers her master agreed to meet,” Missandei translated.

Daenerys crouched down, looking at the child and smiling at her before nodding her head.

The girl disengaged her grip from Jorah and beckoned them through the crowd to an alleyway. The stench of the rotting fish littering the walkway only overpowered by the strong smell of a flowery perfume. 

Looking over his shoulder, Jorah saw that the young girl had disappeared. He unbuckled his holster instinctively, looking for any sign that they had been led into a trap.

“There is no need for such a show of violence,” a soft male voice said as a figure walked slowly from the shadows. “We are friends, are we not?”

There was something strange about the man standing before them. Dressed in a flowing robe that covered his hands, the seemingly benign appearance of the stranger was something that did not sit well with Jorah. The man’s smile looking more insidious than it did reassuring.

Daenerys stepped forward, ignoring Jorah’s protests and concerns for her safety.

“We have travelled for many miles to meet with you, we mean you no harm.”

The stranger lifted his bald head to look at Jorah.

“Then please put your guard dog on a leash,” the stranger said dismissively. “I abhor such acts of masculinity.”

Jorah bristled at the remark, slowly removing his hand from his holster after a pleading look from Daenerys.

“You have what we asked for?” Daenerys questioned the strange man as she unhooked a bag of coins from her belt. “We have the coin, just as we agreed.”

The bald man looked down his nose at the people standing before him, a snide look on his face.

“I have risked much to meet with you and my little birds do not come cheaply. I am thinking that perhaps I should be recompensed further for the trouble I’ve gone to.”

“We are in no mood to play games,” Jorah growled. “Do not test our patience.”

The stranger looked him up and down. “One song from their master and my little birds could kill you in your sleep,” he said dismissively. “Do not think that your blustering unnerves me. I have endured far worse than anything you could ever imagine.”

Daenerys was unwilling to get into a disagreement with this man. They had travelled too far for it all to come to nothing. A few extra coins would be nothing compared to the riches they might find if the ancient burial site yielded the discoveries they hoped for.

“How much more?” Daenerys asked, her hand hovering near a second bag of coins.

“Another twenty five coins should suffice,” the stranger said with a congenial smile.

Daenerys handed them over and held out her hand expectantly as their contact pulled a scroll from his sleeve and placed it in her palm.

“I believe our business here is concluded,” the stranger said, turning to walk away.

“Wait,” Daenerys called out. “What is your name? How will we know how to find you?”

The stranger paused; his back still turned to them. “Find any street child and ask for the Master of Whisperers, they will lead you to my whereabouts.”

Jorah was still not convinced of the man’s intentions. He seemed harmless enough, but he couldn’t help but think that something malevolent hid beneath the surface of the stranger’s seemingly benign appearance.

“What is in this for you?” Jorah asked. “Apart from the coin? Who do you work for?”

“I work for no one except the good of the realm,” the man replied. “I wish you good fortune,” he said as he walked further into the darkness until he completely disappeared.

* * *

“I am not sure I trust that man,” Jorah said as he, Daenerys and Missandei sat at a table at the inn, the scrolls they’d bought from the perfumed stranger rolled out in front of them.

Missandei cast her eye over the pieces of parchment, trying to piece together the different languages they had been written in.

Daenerys picked at the food on the table, popping a piece of the steamed fish bought from the market into her mouth.

“What reason would he have to deceive us?” Daenerys asked as she sucked the juice from her fingers.

“Two hundred and twenty five good reasons,” Jorah retorted, helping himself to some of the food. “Perhaps he thinks he can string us along and squeeze more coin out of us.”

Missandei looked up from the scrolls. 

“I believe the man is trustworthy,” Missandei said, her eyes not meeting those of her travelling companions. Despite their gentle treatment of her so far, to be so far away from home with two people she barely knew was something Missandei was still getting used to.

“You have deciphered their meaning?” Jorah asked, gesturing to the scrolls.

Missandei nodded. “I believe I have,” she responded. “Whoever wrote these used a number of different languages in an effort to encode their message. It was likely only ever intended for one person’s eyes - someone who would know each of the languages contained within the scrolls.”

“And what do they say?” Daenerys asked, her attention fully on the young translator.

Missandei kept her eyes on the scrolls.

“They speak of an ancient dynasty of people who rode on dragons and ruled the world and its seven seas.”

Jorah scoffed at the notion. 

“There is no such thing as dragons,” he said dismissively. “They are an ancient myth told through countless generations.”

“And how would you know this?” Daenerys countered. “Do you believe everything you read in the history books?”

“I believe what my eyes can see,” Jorah replied. “And I have yet to see a dragon. Even if they were real, they would have died out thousands of years ago.”

“What else do the scrolls say, Missandei?” Daenerys asked, not wishing to debate the topic of dragons further with Jorah. She was too invested in the information the ancient texts would give them in terms of the dynasty’s alleged burial site.

“If my translation of the texts is correct, there is a hidden path not far from here that leads to a fortress that once stood proudly upon these shores. The ruins are likely hidden, otherwise many would have discovered them already. The scrolls caution that only the worthy may enter and that the dynasty’s true power can only be wielded by a breaker of chains.”

Missandei paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in, before she continued.

“The texts recount the story of a powerful queen and her faithful knight who overpowered an oppressive regime and brought freedom and wealth to the lands. Those who stood against the dragon queen were burned where they stood. Freedom was given freely to the oppressed and the queen amassed an army of great power, led by the man who had always stood by her side.”

“What happened?” Daenerys asked, utterly entranced in the story Missandei was telling.

Missandei picked up another scroll, unsure as to whether she should divulge its contents. The story of the dragon queen did not have a pleasant ending.

“A man from the North sought out the dragon queen to fight a battle that was not hers to wage. The Northerner pleaded that death would come to them all if she did not join him and take up arms against the living dead. She listened to his words and agreed to help only to lose her beloved knight who had thrown himself on the many blades that had been meant for her on that fateful night.

The dragon queen was distraught at the loss of not only her cherished knight, but two of her dragons and her handmaiden too. Soon rumours spread that the realm sought to overthrow her rule. 

Without her trusted knight and faithful friend by her side, she grew paranoid and defensive, burning whole cities in her anger, her grief at losing the man she loved pushing her closer and closer to a path of madness - one that was finally stopped when the man from the North whom had sought her allegiance plunged a knife deep into her heart.”

Jorah took a long draught of his ale, not believing much of what the text claimed to be true.

“Dragons? The undead?” He scoffed. “It’s pure fantasy. All of it.”

“And what if it isn’t?” Daenerys countered. “What if there was a time, centuries ago, when dragons existed in the world?”

Jorah frowned. “There would be remains…bones… They would have been discovered by now if what these scrolls say is true.”

“Or maybe no one has ever found them until now,” Daenerys continued, her excitement at discovering something so unique growing by the minute. “We should head out there now.”

“There are only a few hours of light left,” Jorah cautioned. “And we must still work out where this hidden path is and where it leads. We will be much better prepared if we set off early on the morrow.”

“He is right, my lady,” Missandei said, her head still bowed in deference. “We stand a much greater chance of finding the ruins if we leave tomorrow.”

Daenerys was disappointed, although she knew her travelling companions were right to be cautious. They had waited this long, surely another night would not matter. 

Reluctantly, Daenerys nodded her head before turning towards the commotion at the door of the inn.

Several men with long, braided hair and tribal tattoos entered the inn, speaking a language that Daenerys could not understand. 

Missandei shrank further into their alcove, eyeing the men warily.

“They are Dothraki,” Missandei whispered. “A tribe of men and women who pray to the horse lords and take whatever they wish from the lands they pillage.”

Jorah moved his hand slowly towards his holster before Missandei’s hand stopped him. He had no idea how many of them there would be, but he would expend all of his bullets if it came to it, long enough so that Missandei and Daenerys could get to a place of safety.

“They do not appear to be a threat at this time,” Missandei said. “They say they are looking for a man, that they have come to collect on a deal that has been made.”

Were these men also here to meet with the perfumed stranger? What would they do when they realised that he had already sold the scrolls to another bidder?

Jorah gathered the pieces of parchment and placed them underneath their table, keeping a wary eye on the men, letting out a sigh of relief when they turned and left the inn.

Just what was it that their mysterious contact had got them into and would the treasures they discovered be worth risking their lives for?

One thing was for sure, they would not die wondering


	3. The Desolate Ruins

As agreed, they had risen at dawn and set off for the hidden path that the scrolls spoke of.

“This must be it,” Daenerys said, removing her hat and wiping at the sweat glistening her brow. They had been walking for over an hour, carefully following the instructions from the scroll.

They stood before an expanse of deep thicket, the branches and wood gnarled and overgrown. It had likely been many years since anyone had come upon this place. There was no sound except that of the insects and animals that inhabited this desolate piece of land. It would take a great deal of effort to cut a path to the trail that supposedly lay hidden beneath.

Pulling a scythe from his satchel, Jorah took a deep breath and began hacking at the rotted wood, pieces of the long-dead tree splintering and flying in all directions. Hacking and chipping for what seemed like an age, Jorah became breathless, dismayed to find that he had only made the smallest of dents in the barrier that blocked their path.

“Allow me,” Daenerys said, holding out her hand for the scythe and cocking her eyebrow.

Jorah handed the weapon to her reluctantly, nodding his thanks as Missandei gave him a canteen of water which he drank from gratefully.

While Jorah’s attempts had been brute force, Daenerys took her time to study the myriad of branches and brush before carefully chopping away at areas that appeared the weakest. Before long, she had made significant inroads into the dense thicket, so much so that the path that lay behind it was almost visible.

Once the way was clear, Daenerys handed the scythe back to Jorah, her expression one that clearly conveyed that she was not just some weak woman who constantly needed a man to come to her rescue. Gentleman that he was, Jorah bowed his head in deference and said nothing.

They had been walking the path for almost two hours when Missandei pointed to something in the distance.

“This must be the place that the scrolls speak of,” the young translator said.

The closer they got to it, the more obvious it became that the building was in a state of great disrepair. Chunks of stone were missing from both the top and the side of the once-proud and powerful structure that stood before them.

“What do you think happened?” Daenerys said, turning to Jorah.

“There may have been an explosion of some sort,” he mused, readjusting his hat and eyeing the decaying structure. “I don’t know of any man that could wreak such destruction, even if the dynasty truly was overthrown by its own people.”

“Perhaps a dragon did this?” Daenerys suggested, a sly grin on her face.

Despite everything the scrolls said, Jorah still refused to believe that dragons had ever existed in the world. While his guarded nature would protect and serve them well, his dogged belief that he could only trust what his eyes showed him blinded him to the possibility that more than just human life had flourished on this foreign soil.

“Perhaps you should stay here,” Jorah suggested to Missandei as he reached into his satchel for a length of rope and extra bullets for his pistols.

It was only mid-morning and the sun was already blazing fiercely in the sky. There was no shelter to be seen for miles around, except that of the deserted ruins that stood before them.

Daenerys shook her head. “We shall stick together. We may need Missandei to translate anything we find inside.

“Perhaps it is better that we stay close to one another,” Missandei agreed, clearly not relishing the thought of being left outside alone. They had not seen the Dothraki since their appearance at the inn the day before, but that did not mean the horde were not on their trail or pursuing them from a distance.

There appeared to be only one entrance to the structure - one that would need brute force and muscle to open, which Jorah obligingly offered, pulling the sandy stone away with his hands to make a gap large enough for all three of them to enter the abandoned building, but not before they had lit two torches to guide their way through the darkness.

There were a myriad of different paths and walkways, each adorned with a different carving. Some of the images were of stags and lions while others were clearly images of dragons soaring through the sky.

“Do you still believe that dragons are just a myth?” Daenerys said, turning to Jorah.

He adjusted his hat and brought his torch closer to the image etched into the sandy stone wall, frowning before replying. 

“Just because someone has carved an image on a wall, does not make it real,” he replied.

Daenerys gave him a wry smile. “You really are a stubborn bear, aren’t you?” Grinning at his affronted expression. “It’s a wonder that you ever took up this line of work.”

Jorah flinched slightly at the comment. He had come into this line of work because he needed the coin that Viserys was offering him. His expensive ex-wife had left him heartbroken and penniless with more than one or two debts to his name, debts that were owed to men much more dangerous and criminal than he.

That and the fact that fate had drawn him to Daenerys.

Dreams and visions of her had haunted him since he was a young boy, those dreams had only become more vivid and colourful the longer he spent in her presence. He was drawn to her whether he liked it or not.

Fate may have drawn them together, but Jorah’s growing love for her would keep him steadfastly by her side until the day he died.

Sensing the tension between her two companions, Missandei pointed at a pathway to the left.

“I believe that following this path will lead us to what the scrolls describe as a throne room.”

“Oh…wow,” Daenerys said, taking in the large empty expanse, her eyes immediately landing on a molten mess of metal that sat upon a number of stone steps, steps that had certainly seen better days. 

The ruins were littered with the remains of charred bodies and bones that could only be that of humans. Whatever had happened here, many people had surely died in what would have been a hail of fire and blood.

“What could have caused such devastation?” Daenerys asked out loud, not expecting an answer. “It looks like people were burned where they stood. Surely no normal fire could do that?

There was no need for the torches as the roof of the structure appeared as if it had been ripped away as easily as pulling a cloth from a table. The harsh beating sun illuminated the room in a fierce light.

“It feels as if we are trespassing on a sacred ground," Jorah said warily as he walked around the sprawling open space, his eyes landing on something metallic that shone in the sunlight. Disturbing the object from its resting place, he cleaned its surface of dust with his hand, before blowing on the remaining specks which floated lazily in the air as they made their way to the ground.

“What have you found?” Daenerys asked as she walked over to him.

Jorah inspected the object closely before answering.

“It appears to be a pin or a broach of some sort,” he said before passing it to her.

The pin was circular, with a hand and forefinger pointing in the middle of it. Missandei peered over Daenerys’ shoulder to inspect it.

“The scrolls describe something called a Hand, a name ascribed to someone who had significant political power and access to the dragon queen. It says that the Hand is considered one of the most trusted advisors, but whoever wore this pin betrayed their queen and led to her downfall.”

Daenerys considered Missandei’s words carefully before placing the pin in her backpack so that she could study in it further detail when they returned to the inn for the night.

“What on earth?” Jorah whispered to himself as he came across a molten mass of metal which was almost as tall as he. He ran a finger over one of its edges only to pull away quickly as the metal sliced through the flesh of his finger.

“Are you ok?” Daenerys asked as she watched him shake his hand several times, specks of blood dropping to the dusty ground as he did so.

He waved away her concern. “It was just a knick, I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, even though his finger was throbbing something fierce and bled lazily. Not wanting to let the wound get infected, he poured some water from his canteen over the injured digit before wrapping his hand in clean cloth from his pocket. He would deal with it properly when they returned this evening.

“I think I may have something,” Missandei said from the other side of the room. “Although I am not sure we should disturb it,” she continued as she peered down at an oval-shaped object.

Daenerys knelt down beside the object, running her fingers across the marbled surface.

“It is beautiful,” she whispered, her voice full of awe at their discovery. “Do you think it is a rock of some sort?”

“It looks more like an egg,” Jorah replied. “I’ve never seen any rock or stone look quite like that.”

The egg-shaped object was almost as big as a fully-grown man’s head, its surface gnarled and rough.

Crouching down next to Daenerys, Jorah reached out a hand to touch its surface, only to hiss and retract it quickly. 

“Shit!” He exclaimed as he looked upon the burned area of his hand. “Whatever it is, it’s damned hot.”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to look before you touch?” Daenerys teased.

Jorah winced, either from the pain or her comment, Daenerys could not be sure. Either way, she couldn’t mistake the look of pain on his handsome features.

Undeterred by Jorah’s plight, Daenerys reached a hand out to touch the object.

“Daenerys, don’t!” Jorah said, reaching for her arm.

It was too late; she had already touched it.

Jorah expected her to remove her hand the moment her fingers made contact with the object. Instead of burning her as it had Jorah, Daenerys felt barely a tingle of warmth from its surface as she ran her hand across its surface. Grabbing the object with both hands, she wiggled it from side to side to free it from its confines.

“It’s heavy,” she said, placing the huge egg on the floor, breathing heavily from the exertion of moving it from its resting place.

“Maybe we should leave it where it is,” Missandei suggested. “It may be dangerous to disturb it.”

Daenerys shook her head. “We’ve come all this way to discover hidden treasures and I’ll bet my last penny that this is worth a whole lot of money on its own. If we sell this to the right person, we could be rich for life.”

The idea of not having to constantly look over his shoulder was definitely an appealing one for Jorah. If they sold the egg to the highest bidder, he would be assured that any of the nefarious characters Lynesse had got him mixed up with could be paid off easily with the profits from the sale and besides, there would come a time when he would be too old for the immense physical nature of being a treasure hunter. His body already carried enough scars and injuries as it was and the thought of not gaining any more was too good a proposition to allow him to preach caution to Daenerys.

The only person who seemed unaffected by the heat from the egg was Daenerys and so after emptying her backpack, she placed the egg inside before pulling the drawstrings shut and readjusting the bag so that it sat comfortably on her back.

“Let us return to the inn before nightfall,” Jorah cautioned, knowing that their trek back to their accommodation would likely take several hours due to the extra weight they were now carrying upon their persons.

Daenerys nodded. “Agreed,” she replied. “I think we have what we came for.”

Picking the torches back up and handing one to Missandei, Jorah followed the two women back along the path that would lead them from the ruins, none of them hearing the sizzling sound the drops of his blood made as it bubbled and shook on the dusty floor….


	4. An Unwelcome Return

After bathing and putting on fresh clothes back at the inn, Daenerys placed the egg-shaped object in the corner of the room she shared with Jorah, knowing that if word spread about their discovery that it would make them targets for thieves and other treasure hunters in the area.

“What do you think we should do with it?” Daenerys asked, watching as Jorah buttoned up the fresh, white shirt he was wearing.

“I’m not sure we should have disturbed it in the first place,” he said, pinging the braces back over his shoulders before reattaching the gun holster at his waist. “Who knows what we’ve let ourselves in for. There is something about that,” he gestured at the egg, “that makes me feel uneasy.”

“Now who is the one believing in foolish things?” she retorted, a triumphant smile on her face. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghouls and curses,” she teased.

Jorah wasn’t amused. 

“There is something unsettling about it,” he replied, checking each of his pistols to ensure the barrels were full before placing them in the holsters. “We don’t even know what it is.”

“A dragon’s egg?” Daenerys said playfully.

Jorah let out a tired sigh.

“There are no such things as dragons, Daenerys.”

“Then how do you explain the egg?” Daenerys countered.

“It is not an egg,” he told her patiently. “It is a precious stone or rock of some sort.”

“Then how do you explain it being so hot and why did it scald you and not me?”

Jorah scratched at his beard, trying to come up with an answer that would explain everything.

“Dragons are born of fire, are they not?” Daenerys continued. “It would explain the state of the ruins we found, and the charred bodies on the floor. What about all of that metal, what could have caused that except dragon fire?”

Jorah shook his hand, the finger he’d cut earlier in the day was still throbbing painfully. “There are no such things - “

“As dragons,” Daenerys interrupted. “You refuse to believe because you haven’t seen it with your own eyes. Tell me Jorah, why are you so against the idea of dragons existing?”

He knew exactly why he couldn’t believe in them. Throughout his life, he’d had several vivid dreams of dragons soaring through the sky at the command of the woman who currently stood in front of him. In those dreams, he had seen the bond Daenerys had with them, how she treated them like her children, and how devastated she was when one was killed and turned against its mother and siblings.

Had Daenerys experienced the same dreams too?

It was clear that the two of them had shared many dreams, had Daenerys refused to acknowledge this one? Was she burying her sorrow so deep so that she could pretend that it no longer existed?

Oh how Jorah wanted to protect her from the pain of losing her child and if it took denying that dragons had ever ruled the sky, then so be it.

He refused to answer her question.

“We should not leave Missandei waiting,” he said, holding the door open for Daenerys as they made their way to the main area of the inn. 

There was already a commotion by the time they’d entered the room.

“Get your hands off of me, you filthy pig!” The young daughter of the innkeeper said, trying to free her arm from the strong grip. “I told you I’m not interested.”

The ageing innkeeper looked at Jorah, his eyes darting to the guns at his sides. The owner of the establishment was frail, with gnarled hands and could only move around the inn with the aid of a cane. He would not be in a position to intervene on his daughter’s behalf.

Jorah strode over to the drunken man’s table.

“You heard the lady,” Jorah growled, his voice low and full of menace. “Let her go.”

The drunken man turned to look at him.

“What’s it got to do with you?” He slurred, using his other hand to try to grope the young woman. “Go and find your own bit of skirt.”

Jorah unfastened one of the pistols at his hip and took a step closer.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said, his mouth twitching. He didn’t want to kill the drunken lout in front of a room full of people. Hopefully the man had enough sense not to push his luck. “Let. Her. Go.”

The man let go, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender before aiming a punch that Jorah easily swayed out the way of. With the man off-balance, Jorah punched him squarely in the jaw before grabbing him by the back of his shirt and tossing him into the street outside.

The innkeeper shuffled over to Jorah, thanking him repeatedly for intervening. Jorah blushed, realising that all eyes in the room were squarely on him, including the group that Missandei had identified as Dothraki the night before.

“Anything you like, sir,” the innkeeper said, “you may have anything you like…for free,” the man clarified unnecessarily.

“Three hot meals and some drinks,” Jorah shook his head and replied, fishing in his pocket for several coins, which he handed over to the old man.

The gesture was not missed by the group of Dothraki, who had stopped talking and were looking on with interest.

Jorah felt uneasy under their penetrating gaze and led the two women to a quiet corner of the inn that was still close enough for Missandei to overhear their conversation.

“They are talking about you, sir,” Missandei said, making herself comfortable at the table.

Jorah frowned. “Do I want to know what they are saying?”

Missandei smiled at Daenerys, had their translator already figured out that her two companions were more than just business partners?

“They are saying - “

The energy in the room changed instantly the moment that Viserys Targaryen walked through the door.

“Did you think you could hide from me forever, sweet sister?” Viserys sneered as he walked up to their table. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to track you down?”

Jorah tensed immediately.

Daenerys shot her brother a dirty look.

“As I recall, you were the one who ran away,” Daenerys spat. “You ran away the moment you realised you’d mistranslated that text and left me to deal with the consequences.”

“That was before I realised how valuable you were, little girl,” Viserys crooned as he used his forefinger to lift her chin.

Jorah stood over Viserys, using his height in an attempt to intimidate the younger man.

“Touch her again and it will be the last time you have hands,” Jorah warned.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her, old man?” Viserys replied. “You’ll never be able to taste this sweet honey. You better sit down; you wouldn’t want to get in my way.”

“And yet here I stand,” Jorah countered.

“Not for much longer,” Viserys scoffed, glancing over his shoulder at the group of Dothraki who were looking on with interest. “I’ve agreed to exchange my darling sister here for their help in making me rich. There’s a rumour that buried treasure is in these lands somewhere. The horse-fuckers are going to help me find it.”

Daenerys shot her brother a fierce look.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” she spat at him. “You have no right - “

Viserys leaned over his sister menacingly. “Oh, I have every right according to the Dothraki Khal who has just bought you. You know, I’d let all fifty thousand of the Dothraki fuck you, one after the other, if it meant I got my way.”

“You cannot do this,” Daenerys said as her brother grabbed at her.

Jorah stepped in between immediately, blocking Viserys path to her.

“I will not let you take her,” he warned. “I will kill you where you stand if you try.”

Viserys smirked. “Then you’ll have the Dothraki to deal with as well. Do you really think you can take us all on?”

The little weasel had a point. There would be little chance that Jorah could overpower the group of heavily muscled men all by himself. He would die trying though.

The voice of the Dothraki leader boomed across the room, his tone curt as he stood up and made his way over to Viserys.

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying,” he told the Khal dismissively. “Kill him and you can have the little whore and fuck her five ways from Sunday for all I care. Just give me what we agreed to.”

The Khal looked Jorah up and down before speaking in a language that only his group and Missandei understood.

“The Khal says that the Andal shows great courage and honour,” Missandei translated as the man kept talking. “He respects this man and does not want to kill him but will take what he has been promised. He has been promised a brood mare to take as his lover.”

Jorah glanced over at Missandei, “Tell him that I do not wish to fight either, but neither will I allow him to take Daenerys.”

“The Khal asks if the woman is yours,” Missandei continued. 

“I do not own her,” Jorah replied, “Daenerys is free to do as she chooses.”

The Khal stroked his beard, glancing at Viserys and then Daenerys in turn.

“The Khal says that women cannot choose. They do not have the same rights as men. The Khal has been promised this woman and demands that the two Andals fight for her. Whoever is the victor can do with the mare as he pleases.”

“I will not have this,” Daenerys spat. “I am not a horse that can be bought or sold. I am not a prize to be fought over.”

The Khal nodded to one of his men who drew a knife from his waist and held it to Missandei’s throat.

“The Dothraki will kill this mare,” Missandei translated, her voice shaking. “The Khal will not waste any more time. The men will fight for ownership of the mare he has been promised.”

“Fine,” Jorah agreed reluctantly.

“Jorah, I will not have this!” Daenerys scolded him. “This is ridiculous. I can look after myself.”

“I know you can,” Jorah replied, hoping that she believed him. “But Missandei cannot. Would you have me let her die just to prove a point?”

The young translator yelped as the man holding her brought the blade close enough to her throat for a trickle of blood to make its way down to her collarbone.

“The Khal says you will fight hand to hand with no weapons.”

Jorah glanced at Daenerys before handing her his belt and weapons.

“If anything happens, take Missandei and shoot your way out of here…run away as fast as you can,” he told her quietly.

“I will not run anywhere,” she replied defiantly. “I will not be cowed by thugs.”

Jorah grimaced. “I do not want to hurt your brother; he is your family.”

“He is no family of mine,” she shot back. “When this is done, I never want to see his face again.”

“Ready, old man?” Viserys jeered as he raised his fists. “I give you five minutes before I lay you out cold.”

Jorah rolled his sleeves up, reluctantly taking his position.

“I do not want to hurt you, boy.”

Viserys barked out a laugh. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than beating you senseless, believe me.”

Sensing that the fight would not end well, Daenerys made a grab for one of Jorah’s pistols only to have her arm grabbed and twisted behind her back, leaving her with no choice but to look on helplessly as her brother and her lover fought over her.

The two men danced around one another with Jorah easily swaying out of the punches thrown his way while landing a few telling ones of his own. Before long, he’d had Viserys on his ass several times as the younger man tripped and stumbled over tables, knocking over tankards of ale as they spilled across the floor.

Sensing his moment to strike, Jorah grabbed Viserys by his shirtfront and leaned him over the table, one fist raised to deal the blow that would knock the man out cold.

“Yield!” Jorah growled, his hot breath on the younger man’s face.

“Yield this,” Viserys replied with a smirk.

It took several seconds for Jorah to look down to his hip where a stiletto knife had been jabbed. As the pain and realisation hit him at the same time, Jorah stumbled backwards, landing heavily on the floor, unable to rise and fight on.

“Looks like I win, old man,” Viserys chuckled as he watched his sister break free from the grip of the man holding her and run to Jorah’s side.

Victorious, Viserys turned to the Khal.

“She’s all yours. Do with her as you please.”

The Khal looked at him, nodding at his men to restrain him.

“Get off me you horse-fuckers!” Viserys yelped as two men grabbed him and dragged him towards the Khal.

The man holding a knife to Missandei’s throat removed his hands from her and followed the rest of the Dothraki from the inn, dragging Viserys behind them as he screamed and begged them to let him go.

The young translator made her way over to her companion’s side, watching as Daenerys held a cloth to the wound, being careful not to disturb the knife that was still embedded in Jorah as it bled continuously. She could see from the pallor of his face that he needed a healer to tend to him.

After asking the innkeeper for the healer’s whereabouts, Missandei set off at a run to find them and bring them back before it was too late.


	5. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that the first part of this chapter has some fairly graphic content, so please read with caution.
> 
> And for those of you wondering what Indiana Jorah looks like, here's the stunning artwork that the wonderful Salzrand has created!

It felt like an age before the healer arrived. Daenerys cradled her lover’s head in her hands while the innkeeper applied steady pressure to the wound, being careful not to disturb the knife. Daenerys could tell by Jorah’s rapid breaths and the shaking of his limbs that shock was setting in and, if left untreated, could be fatal.

Finally, Missandei reappeared with a middle-aged man who spoke in heavily-accented English. He knelt down at Jorah’s side and inspected the wound, humming to himself as he looked at the knife from a number of different angles before touching it gently.

It was enough to earn a yelp of pain from Jorah.

“Take the fucking thing out!” Jorah gasped as the healer continued to press at the wound and the knife still stuck in him. “Please!”

Nodding his head, the healer tried to prise the knife out only to find resistance and bring forth another yell of pain from Jorah.

The healer sat back on his heels, stroking his chin, debating something to himself.

“Help him!” Daenerys begged. “Please!”

The aged man looked at her with sympathy.

“I believe the blade is in his hip bone,” he explained, pointing at the area on himself. “I can remove it, but it will be painful for this man. You will need to keep him still while I do it.”

“Argh!” Jorah growled. “Just take it out already!”

The healer shook his head.

“We must prepare first,” he said, looking at Daenerys. “I need two strong men and some wine brought to the boil.”

Daenerys looked at the innkeeper who nodded his head and said something to his daughter in a language Daenerys did not understand. The girl made her way out the back of the inn, returning with two young men and a pot of boiling wine.

Daenerys eyed the pot nervously as the steam rose into the air.

“What are you going to do with that?” She asked, watching the healer instructing the two men to kneel either side of Jorah and for her to fold and place Jorah’s leather belt in his mouth

“Once the blade is removed, the wound needs to be cleaned thoroughly. It is too deep to be done by hand alone.”

Daenerys gulped. It would not be a pleasant experience for the man whose head was currently lying in her lap. All she could do was stroke his bearded cheeks and brush the sweat-soaked locks of hair from his forehead as the two men pinned Jorah down and the healer set about pulling the knife out of his hip.

Daenerys felt a jolt of pain at Jorah’s scream, muffled by the belt in his mouth. She heard the leather creak as he bit down on it with everything he had.

It had only been moments, but they seemed to last for an age as the healer pulled the knife carefully from Jorah’s body, wiggling it backwards and forwards until it finally came free. Daenerys felt Jorah physically sag against her as the blade was removed. Still, the wound bled sluggishly.

Instinctively, Daenerys knew what would come next as she eyed the healer testing the heat of the wine before bringing it back to the man lying prone on the floor.

“Just keep looking at me, Jorah,” she crooned, stroking his face. “I’m here, keep looking at me.”

Between the cries of anguish, the sight of the blood, Jorah’s writhing as the boiling liquid was poured over his wound, and the smell of wine mingled with blood, it was almost enough for Daenerys to vomit, but it would do no good to Jorah for her to fall apart at this time. He needed her strength for the healer’s job was only half done. There was still the stitching of the wound to contend with.

Perhaps it was a small mercy when Jorah finally passed out from the pain as the middle-aged man began readying a needle and thread, singing quietly to himself as he worked. If it hadn’t been for the discarded knife and the coppery smell of blood, the healer might as well have been darning a sock for all the concern he showed for the task at hand.

“I have sewn back together more men than I care to remember,” the healer said as he worked. “There have been many a war in these parts throughout the years. It’s always been enough to keep a man in his job.”

Daenerys realised that he must have caught her staring at him.

“Will he be ok?” she asked, stroking the sweat-matted hair from Jorah’s forehead.

The old man smiled reassuringly. “The wound is clean, it just needs to heal. In a week, maybe less, he should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys replied, glancing over to Missandei who stood in the corner of the room talking quietly to the innkeeper’s daughter. “We owe you his life. We will make sure you are well paid for your services.”

The healer shook his head. “There is no need,” he said, tying off the final stitch and wrapping clean white cloth around Jorah’s abdomen. “My job is my calling, much like yours is,” he continued cryptically. “Besides, this man is of great importance to you…you need him.”

Of course Daenerys needed him, she’d fallen in love with him. Whatever happened on their journey, it would mean nothing if Jorah was not by her side.

“Well, if our paths ever cross again, we will owe you a great debt,” Daenerys replied, watching the two young men carry Jorah back to their room.

The healer set about collecting his belongings, seemingly oblivious to her words. He fished around in his bag and handed Daenerys a vial.

“Place two drops of that in water to help him sleep. He must rest and not disturb the wound. Change the cloths daily and make sure the area stays clean,” he instructed.

“And if we need you again?” Daenerys asked as the healer made his way to the door of the inn. 

“Then fate will have a way of finding us,” he replied, his back turned to her. “It always does.”

* * *

When Daenerys woke the next morning, the first thing she saw was Jorah lying beside her. Were it not for the cloth bandage across his abdomen, she would have thought him merely sleeping next to her as they had both nights previously.

Pulling herself up quietly and carefully so as not to disturb him, Daenerys placed the back of her hand on Jorah’s forehead, checking for any sign of fever. She felt none and was relieved to see that much of the grey pallor of his skin from yesterday was gone. His breathing seemed even and regular and it soothed Daenerys to know that he was resting comfortably.

As instructed, she placed two drops of the liquid in the cup of water that she brought to Jorah’s lips when he woke in the early hours of the morning. As long as he took in fluids and rested, the healer assured her that Jorah would be fine, in time.

It was a good thing that whatever the healer had given her was enough to knock Jorah out. She knew that within a day or two he would be grumbling and demanding to be freed from the confines of his sickbed, especially now they were in receipt of a precious artefact that her brother seemed hell-bent on getting his hands on.

The thought of Viserys and the manner in which he treated her yesterday still stung painfully. It wasn’t anything that she wasn’t already used to but what had made it worse was that Jorah had also gotten caught up in her brother’s sick games.

While she abhorred the idea of two men fighting over her like some prized cattle, she knew Jorah had no choice once a knife had been held to Missandei’s throat. Jorah made it clear that Daenerys was her own woman and able to make her own choices, but his hands had been tied once the Dothraki Khal lost his patience and demanded a resolution.

She faintly remembered the Dothraki dragging Viserys off somewhere as he celebrated his hollow victory. While her brother believed in winning at any cost, the Khal seemed to have a sense of honour about him. Although Viserys had been the last man standing, he cheated in his effort to do so. Had the blade been larger, had he stabbed Jorah closer to his heart, or more than once…any of those outcomes could have taken away the man who she was beginning to fall desperately in love with.

Rage boiled within her like the wine they poured on Jorah’s wound the night before. Whatever the Dothraki were doing to her brother, she hoped it was painful. She wanted him to suffer for every cruel thing he’d ever done to her.

Since meeting Jorah, Daenerys had found a strength she never knew existed within her. With Jorah by her side, she was capable of being much more than just a scared little girl trying to keep her volatile brother happy. Jorah didn’t treat her like a stupid child, he treated her like the grown woman she was. In a world so clearly dominated and defined by men, Jorah was the only man she’d ever known who saw the strength within her.

And she would be his strength, just as he was hers, even if that meant forcing him to stay in bed and rest. 

The healer warned her that Jorah would not wake much during the first day, explaining that his body needed rest in order to replace the blood he’d lost and begin the healing process. Daenerys decided to use that time wisely by meeting Missandei at the market. They would be staying at the inn for some time yet, certainly until Jorah was fit enough to ride a horse once more, and it would give them the chance of learning more about the mysterious origins of the egg-shaped object that lay hidden under bedding and towels in the far corner of their room.

* * *

Jorah failed to stir by the time Daenerys had dressed and readied herself for the day. 

She asked the innkeeper to check on Jorah while she and Missandei walked down to the market stalls, placing a few more gold coins in the innkeeper’s hand. He refused to take them, insisting that he owed Jorah a great debt for saving his daughter from the violent drunkard the night before.

As she and Missandei walked down to the market, Daenerys could tell that her young travelling companion was still shaken by last night’s events.

“How is Mr. Mormont this morning?” Missandei asked quietly.

“He is well,” Daenerys reassured her. “And he would insist that you call him Jorah,” she added with a smile. The first time Missandei called him that, Jorah grumbled that it made him sound like an old man.

Missandei gave her a shy smile.

“I am hoping I can find some further texts that may give us a clue as to the origins of our discovery,” Missandei said, her voice barely a whisper for fear of being overheard.

Daenerys nodded. On her list of items were some of the herbs that the healer had advised would help with Jorah’s pain. She also needed something to keep him occupied and in bed while his wound healed.

The two women went their separate ways, agreeing to meet up within the hour. Daenerys walked from stall to stall until her eyes fell upon something that she knew Jorah would appreciate. Pulling out her purse of coins, she heard a distinctive voice that could only belong to one person.

Her brother.

He must have seen her as he screamed her name, begging that she come to rescue him.

Her eyes widened when she saw the pitiful form of her brother completely naked, his hands tied to a long piece of rope held by the Dothraki Khal who sat astride his horse. One look at Viserys’ face told her that they had not been kind to her brother throughout the night.

“Dany, please!” Viserys begged, finding himself being pulled along behind the procession of Dothraki riders and their horses. “I’m sorry!” He cried as he pleaded with her. “We’re family! I am your brother!”

She walked over to him slowly, her eyes full of disgust for the man who less than twenty-four hours ago wanted to sell her to be raped by the same horse lords who now held him captive. Daenerys held up a hand close to her brother’s face as she looked him in the eye.

He hadn’t been expecting the fierce slap she delivered to his face.

“You’re no brother of mine,” she spat, turning her back on him and walking away until she could no longer hear her name being shouted as he continued to beg for help.


	6. To Behold One's Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have been teasing you all for a while as to how my Jorleesi AUs are connected to one another and this chapter will reveal exactly why they are...

Daenerys was perusing some of the market stalls when she heard a woman’s voice behind her.

“You are Daenerys Targaryen,” the female voice said.

Daenerys turned slowly, coming face to face with a woman who wore a strange-looking mask across the bottom half of her face.

“Who wants to know?” Daenerys answered coolly, still bristling from the run-in with her brother.

The mysterious woman’s eyes bore into her as they stood facing one another, ignoring the traders and customers flitting from stall to stall around them.

“I do not expect you to know who I am,” the stranger said. “The fates have called me here to speak with you.”

In between the mysterious egg they had discovered, the cryptic clues from the man who sold them the information on their whereabouts, and the odd conversation she had with the healer last night, Daenerys had almost had enough with this strange and foreign land already. Returning home to some semblance of normality was beginning to seem like an appealing idea. 

“Then what do you want from me?” Daenerys asked tiredly, looking around the market for any sign of Missandei.

The masked woman looked over her shoulder, motioning for Daenerys to follow her to a quieter area before answering her question.

“Tell me, Daenerys,” the stranger began, “what do you dream of?”

Daenerys put her hands on her hips, ready to answer before the woman cut her off.

“You dream of the man whose blood was spilled on sacred ground yesterday.”

Daenerys’ mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes narrowed at the woman.

“Have you been following us?”

The woman shook her head, the tiny metal disks on her mask tinkling as she did so.

“I come from a time many centuries before you were born. It was his blood that drew me here.”

Daenerys pursed her lips.

“You expect me to believe you’re some sort of witch or a time traveller? I can assure you that there are no such things.”

The woman shook her head once more.

“I am merely here to show you that which you need to know.”

The masked woman place a hand on Daenerys’ shoulder. 

She suddenly felt the world around her begin to slowly dissipate...

_She turns to the witch who treated her husband’s wounds. Wounds that have festered and left him on the brink of death._

_“Save him and I will free you. I swear it,” she begs, desperate for a chance to save her husband’s life. “You must know a way,” she implores the woman, “some magic,” she suggests._

_The witch looks uneasy._

_“There is a spell. Some would say death is cleaner - “_

_She doesn’t need to hear any more, if there is a way to save Drogo, she will pay the price, whatever it may be. “Do it. Save him,” she demands._

_“There is a price,” the witch says._

_“You’ll have gold, whatever you want,” she replies, realising that time is running out to save her husband._

_The witch shakes her head._

_“It is not a matter of gold. This is blood magic. Only death pays for life.”_

_She feels the breath freeze in her lungs._

_“My death?” She asks._

_Again, the witch shakes her head._

_“No, not your death, Khaleesi,” the woman answers. “Bring me his horse.”_

_“Khaleesi, do not do this,” a voice implores her. “Let me kill this witch."_

_She looks at them fiercely, daring anyone to betray her command._

_“Kill her and you kill your Khal.”_

_Still, they question her judgment._

_"This is blood magic. It is forbidden.”_

_She will not be denied. If there is a chance that it will save Drogo, she will take it._

_“I am your Khaleesi. I tell you what is forbidden.”_

Daenerys found herself brought back to the present with a jolt.

“The witch did not save your husband or your child. You believed the death of your son was the price you paid to keep the Khal by your side. You were mistaken.”

“You are a charlatan. A fake!” Daenerys exclaimed. Had any of what the woman showed her ever happened? She had no recollection of any of it, never having seen the Dothraki or its Khal before travelling here. “You are mistaken if you think that was me.”

“You dream, don’t you?” the masked woman continued. “You dream of dragons…of things that could never be. It brought you here, did it not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wish to hear no more about it,” Daenerys replied dismissively.

“You must know that the price you paid is of great consequence, as it has been for hundreds of years.”

“You are making no sense,” Daenerys said, bringing a hand to her forehead in an effort to ease the tension she felt there.

“You believe in dragons yet do not believe in fate?”

Of course she believed in fate, it had been fate that had drawn her to Jorah. Their dreams had been intertwined for so long that his presence by her side seemed as natural to her as breathing.

“The price you paid to save the Khal’s life was that of the man who loved you the most. The man who chose his love for you over the love of his home. The man who fought for you, defended you until his last breath. The man whose bed you currently share.”

How could this woman know so much about her?

“For centuries, you have been fated to repeat the same cycle. Life after life, year after year, the man who means the most to you will be taken from you. You bartered with his life for a man who raped and defiled you. You chose to turn away from his love until it was too late. He died defending you, never hearing the words he longed for…that you loved him as he loved you.”

“You mean to say that we are cursed?” Daenerys asked, her mouth suddenly going dry at thought that she could lose Jorah so easily. But they had confessed that they loved one another, they had consummated their relationship only a day or so ago…

“Your dreams are memories of past and future lives,” the masked woman explained. “They are not figments of your imagination; they are slivers of the many cycles you are fated to repeat. No matter what you do, no matter the path you choose, he will always be taken from you.”

“Then what do we do?” Daenerys asked desperately. “Why do we continue to be punished? It was not a choice that we made!”

“That I do not know, Daenerys Targaryen,” the masked woman answered. “You must find a way to break the curse or you will be fated to repeat the cycle…forever.”

“Daenerys, is everything ok?” Missandei said, approaching her friend.

She turned at the sound of her name only to find that when she looked back, the mysterious masked woman was gone.

* * *

“This is ridiculous,” Jorah growled as Daenerys stood over him with her arms crossed. “I am quite capable of riding a horse.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. When she returned to the inn yesterday, Jorah was still sleeping deeply and had not woken until just now.

She was aware that he had not stirred during the night, for she spent most of it awake, troubled by the things that the masked woman told her as she vacillated wildly between believing the stranger and dismissing her words as foolish nonsense.

“The healer says you must rest or else you will tear open your wound,” Daenerys replied as she continued dressing for the day.

“You cannot expect me to lay here while you and Missandei do all the work. I need to be up and moving, not lazing around in bed.”

Daenerys smiled at him. 

“And who says you will not be working?” She replied, carrying the pile of books she bought at the market yesterday to his side. “I have a job for you,” she continued, placing the first book in his hands as he lay propped up in bed by a number of pillows. “Read these and see if it mentions the ruins we found.”

Jorah looked at the book dubiously.

“Songs and Histories of the Seven Kingdoms?” He said, reading the title aloud. “How do we know that these are not just some fairy tales passed down from one generation to the next?”

Daenerys kissed him on the cheek. “It is your job to find out, good sir,” she answered him, popping her hat on her head. “Those books should keep you busy for some time.”

Jorah nodded his head and sighed before looking at the woman he loved.

“Fine,” he replied, pushing the bed covers back. “But first I need to go.”

She frowned, letting out a sigh of her own.

“Jorah, we have already been through this - “

Jorah blushed fiercely. “I mean, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Daenerys placed her hat back on the table before collecting a robe and bringing it over to him. She held out a hand to help him from the bed and was surprised when he took it without arguing.

“Shit,” Jorah cursed under his breath as they hobbled to the anteroom. He pulled the curtain across before relieving his bladder of its contents. Moving hurt more than he expected it to.

Limping back to the bed with Daenerys’ support, Jorah grumbled when she began untying the cloth around his torso.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said, grabbing gently at her wrist.

“You can hardly do it yourself,” she replied, fully expecting him to resist her attempts to take care of him.

He flushed with embarrassment as he lay naked on the bed in front of her.

“Really, Jorah?” She said, covering his groin with a towel to spare his blushes. “We’ve seen one another naked before. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Or would you prefer Missandei came in and did this?” Or perhaps the innkeeper and his daughter?” She teased, knowing the reaction it would cause.

It would not be the first time Missandei saw him barely clothed either. The young woman was there when the healer set about treating Jorah’s wounds and saw the scars on his back as he’d been sat up so the healer could bind his wound with cloth.

Missandei raised the subject upon their return from the market yesterday.

“Forgive me, Daenerys,” Missandei said as they sat eating their evening meal at the inn. “I could not help but see the marks on Jorah’s back. Has he been mistreated?”

The question caught Daenerys off-guard. She knew it was something that Jorah did not like to speak of.

“During the war,” Daenerys answered, hoping that her answer was vague enough to keep Jorah’s confidence.

Missandei nodded her head.

“My father had many of the same marks on his body, too,” Missandei replied. “We were forced from our homeland many years ago. Our village was overtaken by another, we were forced to flee or be persecuted and killed. It is how I learned many of the languages I speak.”

Daenerys’ eyes dropped to the plate of food in front of her.

“I am sorry to hear that; it must have been terrible.”

“My father was a good man, but there were many who persecuted him for the things he believed in. He was honest and true, just like I believe Jorah to be,” Missandei replied with a sad smile. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but may I ask if the two of you are more than just business partners?”

The blush that crept across Daenerys’ face betrayed any denial she might have voiced at the question.

Missandei smiled shyly, turning her attention back to her food.

“It is comforting to know that you have one another, you make a good team.”

Jorah let out a low groan and it brought Daenerys back to the present sharply when she realised she had tied his bindings far too tightly.

“While I am reading books, what is it that you will do with your day?” Jorah asked, letting out a long breath as Daenerys loosened the bindings and secured them in a way that no longer restricted his breathing.

“I will look for the Master of Whisperers again,” she replied, walking back over to the table and putting her hat back on. “I want to see what else he knows.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Jorah warned. “I don’t trust that man.”

Daenerys made her way back over to his side, kissing him on the lips - a kiss that promised much more when Jorah’s wound finally healed.

“I will be careful,” she reassured him, cradling his cheek and running a thumb over his beard. “Read those books and on my return we’ll discuss what we’ve both learned.” Daenerys made her way to the door, stopping before she opened it.

“I love you,” she said over her shoulder, the words of the masked woman ringing in her ears. She would tell him each morning when they rose and it would always be the last thing he heard at night. Even if the woman’s words were false, Jorah deserved to know how she felt about him. They could not take anything for granted, even more so in their current line of work.

‘I love you, too.” 

She caught his whispered words as she made her way down the corridor in search of the man who seemed to know much more about their situation than he was letting on.


	7. The Passages of Time

Daenerys made her way through the market stalls, looking for any child who appeared to be on their own. The man who had sold her the scrolls used children to pass messages and make contact with the outside world. It was something that didn’t sit well with her, but she had no choice. Ever since entering this foreign land, there had been far too many things she couldn’t explain, far too many things that couldn’t be brushed off as simple coincidence.

Perhaps the Master of Whisperers knew she would seek him out, as a young boy walked up to her, motioning with his hand for her to follow him through the busy thoroughfare. The noise of the traders selling their wares and customers haggling on prices drowned out any attempts she might have made to speak with the child, and so she followed him quietly, her eyes alert to any danger, until they came to the same dark alleyway she’d met the mysterious man in previously.

Daenerys stifled the surprised gasp as he stepped out of the shadows, barely making a sound as he moved.

“You wished to speak with me again?” He said, his voice the same sing-song tone he used the first time they met. Despite his benign appearance, it was clear that he was a man not to be trifled with.

“How did you know?” Daenerys replied.

“My little birds are everywhere,” he answered, his hands hidden under his robes as raised his chin. “It would not serve me well not to know what is happening across these lands.”

Daenerys tried to ignore the underlying threat in his seemingly gentle tone.

“The scrolls you sold us,” she began, “we discovered something we were not expecting.”

Varys sniffed. “You were expecting to find riches and gold?” He asked dismissively. “Do you equate value only to the things you can sell for a profit?”

Not to be deterred, Daenerys continued. “We found something…we thought it was a rock or stone of some sort. It was hot to the touch and burned anyone who tried to pick it up.”

“Except you?” he asked.

Her eyes widened in shock. How did he know? She realised her expression had already given her away.

“Surely you are aware of what you now have in your possession?” the man continued.

Daenerys frowned. “It looks like an egg of some sort, but I know of no animal that can lay an egg of that size. It is from no beast that I have ever seen.”

Again, he did not appear surprised to hear of this apparent revelation.

“That is because it is from a creature who no longer exists, their kind died out many centuries ago.”

“A dragon?” Daenerys asked.

He gave her a genial smile.

“Some say they never existed.”

“Did they?” Daenerys continued.

The man smiled at her in that benevolent way of his and it immediately made her feel uncomfortable.

“That I do not know. My role is only to see the egg come into the possession of its rightful owner.”

“What do you mean?” Daenerys said, growing frustrated with the man’s vague statements. “Who do you work for?”

“I’ve told you,” he said patiently. “I work only for the good of the realm. Why do you think I did not sell those scrolls to your brother?”

Daenerys’ mouth gaped open.

“How do you know about him?”

He smiled at her. “I know all about your brother, your family, and its history. Legend says that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin to decide their fate.”

“You know nothing of my family,” Daenerys shot back, her hands on her hips.

“Oh, I know _everything_ about your family, Daenerys Targaryen. They say a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. Tell me, how is your guard dog? I do hope he is healing well…”

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening us?”

“I would never do such a thing,” the Master of Whisperers replied evenly. “I heard of the events at the inn. Violence is such a terrible thing, but I am sure that your brother will soon learn the error of his ways while with the Dothraki horde.”

“What will they do with him?” She asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. Despite every cruel and cold thing he had done to her, he was still her brother.

“They will treat him like to broodmare he promised them, no doubt. Once he is no longer useful, they will dump him and leave him for dead.” He picked up on the look on her face. “If you are having second thoughts, you should not. Your brother is not the one who was promised.”

“Do you mean to say that I am?”

“That remains to be seen,” the man said as he once more disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

Daenerys returned to the inn feeling troubled. She sought out the perfumed man with the intention of getting answers to the many questions swirling through her mind, but instead she left with more than she began with.

In between discovering the egg, her meeting with the strange masked woman and her encounters with their mysterious contact, Daenerys could not ignore the feeling that she was nothing more than a pawn in a much larger and deadlier game.

She had dreamed of dragons for years and knew that Jorah did too. While she believed their meeting to have been nothing more than chance, there were far too many coincidences to discard the notion that fate had brought them together for a reason - one which, up until now, they had not been aware of.

As far as Jorah understood, the only thing connecting each of them to the other were the dreams they both shared. Now, with the addition of the mysterious egg, the masked woman and her discussion with the perfumed man, she could no longer deny that perhaps they had been drawn together for more than just the purpose of falling in love.

And she was in love, she couldn’t deny it, as she opened the door to their room at the inn to find Jorah asleep with one of the books she bought him laying open on his chest. Despite his insistence that he was fine and fit enough to travel, his current position said otherwise. It would be a number of days before she would even consider the idea of the three of them setting off for their next journey and adventure.

Removing her hat and then her dust-covered boots, Daenerys felt the fatigue hit her all of a sudden, having not slept well the night before. She brushed a few of the hairs away from Jorah’s forehead, kissing him gently on the cheek before lying down next to him. Although still asleep, he seemed to recognise she was there as he brought her closer to him. She laid her head on his chest and allowed herself to be drawn into slumber by the steady beat of his heart.

_She tumbled to the ground as Drogon shrieked and took to the sky once more._

_She realised that she was alone, surrounded by dozens of undead ghouls, all of them brandishing weapons and circling around her. It would only be a matter of time before they swooped in for the kill._

_Jon Snow was nowhere to be seen and she realised that she would die alone out here._

_No one was coming to save her._

_And then he appeared out of nowhere. The man who had never once let her down. The man who had fought for her, killed for her…_

_Jorah._

_She felt herself being pushed out of the way. She watched on as he swung the huge sword with one hand, cutting through a swathe of the undead as if they were nothing. He was taking them all on, but for every ghoul he slaughtered, two more arrived in their place. They were stranded out there on the battlefield, the enemy were closing in. It would be impossible, even for Jorah, to fight them off from all sides._

_And so she picked up a sword and fought with him, despite not ever having wielded a blade in her life._

_She had seen several blades that had already found a target in Jorah’s body. She could see the blood spill as he pushed her out the way and took another blow meant for her. Despite her best efforts, Jorah took blade after blade, his defences opening in an effort to shield her from the dead._

_She saw him fall._

_Her heart stopped as he pulled himself to his feet, continuing to fight. To defend her from the enemy who wanted to kill them both._

_He fell again, this time a blade entered his side. She heard his groan of pain._

_He rose to his feet once more, his only thought - protecting the woman he loved from anyone who meant her harm._

_This time a blade found the centre of his chest. He fell to his hands and knees and she knew that this time…this time he would no longer be able to pull himself back to his feet._

_He stumbled and faltered and yet somehow…somehow he pulled himself up with his sword and fought to protect her, but he was losing the battle to stay on his feet as more blades made contact with his flesh and she knew that if he died she would follow him soon after._

_And then everything stopped._

_The enemy they were fighting fell to the ground. She smiled at triumphantly at Jorah._

_They had won._

_Her smile faltered as he dropped first to his knees and then onto his back._

_She was by his side in an instant, cradling his head as he struggled to say something. She could see the blood dripping from his lips._

_He was dying._

_She knew that she had to tell him before it was too late. She had to let him know that she loved him. Not as a queen for her knight, but that she loved him, body and soul, the way that he loved her._

_She watched as the light in his eyes died and his body went limp._

_He was dead._

_He had died and she had never told him the words he deserved to hear._

_That she loved him._

_She would never be able to tell him and, in that moment, it broke her._

She woke with a gasp, surprised to find Jorah looking at her with concern.

“Daenerys, are you ok?” He asked, turning stiffly onto his uninjured side.

Her breath was heaving in her chest. She had lost him, and she had never been able to tell Jorah what he meant to her. Was this what the masked woman meant?

Was it just a dream or a memory of a lifetime hundreds of years ago?

The dreams, the egg, the cryptic words of people around them…all of it revolving around both her and the man lying next to her. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, mixing in a way that meant she could no longer think or see clearly. Only one thing brought clarity to her troubled mind.

Jorah.

No matter what, she felt safe and protected when he was by her side - from her thoughts as well as anyone who meant her harm.

She realised that she needed to tell him. She needed him to know what had been troubling her these past few days. Perhaps together they could find an answer.

She took a deep breath.

“Jorah, there is something I must tell you, but promise me you will not speak. Just listen.”

He nodded his head in agreement as she took a deep breath and began.


	8. Fire and Ice

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone,  
Jenny would dance with her ghosts,  
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,  
And the ones who had loved her the most.”

Daenerys was surprised to find herself waking to the sound of Jorah singing softly as he ran a razor across his cheeks, removing most of the beard that had grown in the days since his fight with Viserys.

It had been a tough task, but Daenerys managed to get Jorah to rest for three days and nights before finally relenting and allowing him to sit at the desk at the far end of their room to continue reading through the books she had bought and tasked him with reading.

She admired his form as he stood shirtless in front of the mirror and basin, seemingly unaware that she was watching him. Although he stood in his trousers and boots, Daenerys noticed that he hadn’t yet begun wearing his leather belt and holster, a clear sign that the wound on his hip was still bothering him, even if he tried to deny it.

Reluctantly, he agreed to drink the herbal teas she brewed, having bought them from the healer who treated Jorah the night he was injured. She could tell when pain and discomfort were beginning to sink their claws into him by the way his jaw clenched imperceptibly. It would be then that she brewed a cup of herbs and would bring it to his side as he picked up another book, searching for any meaningful clue they might find.

It surprised Daenerys that Jorah listened patiently when she recounted her worries and fears several nights ago. She expected him to cut her off and tell her that she was being foolish, but he lay next to her and listened as she told him about the strange masked woman, the odd encounter with the healer and the perfumed man’s cryptic words.

“He said that he has spies everywhere, it makes sense that he knew of what happened at the inn,” Jorah countered when Daenerys told him of her last meeting with the perfumed man. “Besides, we are strangers in a foreign land, we stand out far too easily against the locals.”

“But he told me that Viserys wasn’t worthy and that he wanted to ensure the egg fell into the right hands,” she countered.

Jorah frowned at her, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Then why not give you the scrolls? Why sell them to us if they were meant to be yours?”

She was unable to deny that Jorah had a point, especially when he countered her meeting with the masked woman. Maybe he was right, maybe the stranger was just a fortune teller trying her luck.

For all of her wide-eyed innocence, she needed Jorah and his pragmatic nature to balance her willingness to believe in the words of others, some of whom no doubt did not have her best interests at heart. As much as she disliked it at times, Jorah’s voice of reason often helped her to see past the silver-laced whispers of others to the lies that hid just beneath the surface.

“I’ve never heard that song before,” Daenerys said, and it was enough to make Jorah visibly jump at her words.

He turned to face her, wiping the last of the whiskers from his face with a towel, his cheeks blushing red.

“It was in one of the books you had me read,” he said, wiping and drying his hands before discarding the cloth and making his way back over to the bed, the limp still apparent in his left hip as he moved.

“I never knew you could sing,” she said, sitting up fully in bed so that her back rested on the pillows. “You have quite a talent, sir. Come, lie on the bed and I shall check your wound,” she instructed him, patting the empty side of the bed.

“There is no need, it is fine,” he replied with a resigned sigh.

“Your limp tells me otherwise. Now, sit.”

Jorah rolled his eyes, acquiescing to her demands, knowing it would be quicker to get it over with rather than argue the point with her. They had made plans to leave in the next few days and there were plenty of things that needed doing before then.

He found himself being pushed back toward the pillows as Daenerys unbuttoned his trousers. He took a deep breath and willed his body not to betray him. There was no time to get lost in his carnal thoughts, otherwise the two of them would likely spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other’s intimate embrace.

“Lift your hips,” Daenerys commanded, her eyes focused on the job at hand while Jorah’s couldn’t help but look at the swell of her breasts as she leaned toward him. It was enough to make him twitch visibly - something that Daenerys picked up on quickly as she smiled wolfishly at him and pulled his trousers off him completely.

He swallowed thickly.

“Daenerys - “

“Be quiet.” This time her eyes found his, she licked her bottom lip while carefully untying the bandage and inspecting the wound. It looked clean and seemed to be healing well.

“Does it hurt?” She asked, pressing gently on the stitches on his hip.

He shook his head. The only pain he was feeling was a pleasurable one in his groin. He could feel himself growing harder the longer she leaned over him.

Suddenly, her lips were on his as she leaned across his chest, seeking his mouth with her own. He held her gently and deepened the kiss as she clambered over to place her legs either side of him.

“Daenerys,” he said, trying to pull away, “we shouldn’t.”

She silenced him with another passionate kiss. “We must,” she told him, passion burning brightly in her eyes before she lifted her arms, removing the lacy shift she was wearing and descending on his mouth once more.

His hands went to her sides, running them up and down her body, his thumbs brushing delicately over her breasts as she moaned into his mouth, needing to feel his hands all over her. She wanted him, needed him to set her skin alight with his practiced touch. The way their hands searched for each other was almost feverish and suddenly they couldn’t get enough of one another through hands and mouths alone.

Daenerys reached behind, stroking him although there was no need to, Jorah’s body had long since betrayed him. He was ready for whatever she wanted to do to him. He watched transfixed as she lowered herself down and their bodies joined intimately, a breathy gasp leaving her mouth as she sunk down to take him in fully.

He winced slightly at the pain in his left hip, but nothing would deter him from the task at hand. Daenerys began rolling her hips, taking him in as deep as she could while he placed his hands on the swell of her own hips in an effort to control the pace and speed of their coupling.

Jorah soon found any semblance of rational thought going out the window when Daenerys leaned forwards and kissed him, her lips finding his, as well as his cheek, his ear, and the crook of his neck. He held her tightly as they moved together. Gone were the thoughts of what they needed to do to prepare for their departure. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the flames of passion burned fiercely between them. Nothing mattered except that they were together, their bodies joined as one.

Jorah felt Daenerys coming closer to the edge, he held her firmly in his arms, not wanting to let her go. He felt her walls clench around his length, she growled his name in his ear and it was enough to send him into oblivion soon after as he released himself deep inside of her, his insistence that he would not make her with child forgotten when he found himself still hard and moving within her.

Despite the discomfort in his hip, he flipped them over so that Daenerys was on her back all the while never breaking the intimate contact between them. He thrust deeper into her, their arms and legs a tangled mess as they writhed between the sheets, something primal overcoming their rational thoughts as they lost themselves in each other over and over again, both of them so consumed by their need for on another that neither of them noticed the way the large calcified egg began to shake and shimmer as the two lovers continued to move as one.

* * *

The masked woman groaned as she finally came to, her mask having fallen slightly when she fell to the ground.

The vision had taken her suddenly and brought her first to her knees and then to the floor, the strength and speed with which it claimed her taking her by surprise.

Despite the wave of dizziness, she drew herself back to her feet. Quaithe smiled at the vision of the two lovers losing themselves in a moment that was far greater than just two souls in the physical act of making love.

They were fire and ice, destined to meet one another and change the world.

Perhaps, this time, they would find a way to break the curse that had held them all hostage for centuries. Only when the curse was broken could the prince who was promised be born and it would be he who would finally fulfil his destiny and bring peace to the world once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued, obviously... 
> 
> There will definitely be a third instalment in this series but it may not be until early 2021 though as I have the following projects, some of which are finished and some of which I have not yet started:
> 
> Sequel to The King of Wishful Thinking - first draft complete and will start posting next week.  
> A new AU multi-chapter story - 9/? first draft chapters complete.  
> When All is Said and Done (Jack Taylor story) - 13/? first draft chapters complete.  
> Sequel to Mr. Starfucks - not yet started.  
> Sequel to Mysterious Ways - not yet started.
> 
> That's obviously a lot of chapters and writing to do, plus I also have a Jorleesi Exchange piece in the works and for the overall 'curse' arc throughout my AUs it's important that I write the stories in a particular order. I guess what I'm trying to say in a long-winded kind of way is that you'll need to wait a while before we pick up the Indiana Jorleesi universe again, but hopefully it will be worth the wait...


End file.
